The Real Tale of Bilbo and Frodo Baggins
by FreaknessForDummies
Summary: [...and Their Many Splendiferous Adventures] What really happened to the Fellowship: the story they didn't want you to read!
1. Part One

_[DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own any 'Lord of the Rings' characters as they are all the property of the illustrious J.R.R. Tolkien and/or/including his estate. I am simply taking author's liberties in parodying said characters in the telling of the "real" story, from the point of mind-in-gutter individuals like myself, and letting them have their ways with each other. I'm sorry if this offends anyone (namely purists or heterosexuals who might find the content offensive). This story is book-canon, but the characters are movie-based (meaning the plot shall follow the books, while the characters are heavily based off the vibes received from the movies. Which are many.), and in sticking to canon as best I can, I shall try my best not to be flamed/MST'd/PPC'd. Once again I apologize to the purists.]_

Once upon a ding-dong day, a young hoppit by the name of Bilbo (though some just called him Bill) stuck his nose outside his little round door to have a nice look at the weather. These hoppits, you see, are fond of particularly rainy weather, as it is good for mud wrestling. Today however, the weather was fine (as he figured it would be, since he had already looked out of all the windows, but wanted to be sure), but there was a strange sight when he looked down at his front step: A small baby, no more than a few days old, wrapped in a blue blanket.   
"Ooh, silky!" he said, and started sucking his thumb, while playing with she satin bits on the edge of the blanket. As he was doing this, Bilbo cut his finger on a piece of paper that had been pinned to the blanket. "Ouch! Papercut!" He exclaimed, pulling the note off the baby, being careful not to prick him. The note read as follows:  
  
_"Dearest Bilbo,  
I am sorry for leaving you all those years ago when you needed me the most. As it would turn out, I need you now: please take care of my baby, whom I have so lovingly wrapped with a bottle of your favourite cherry-flavoured bath oil, and the baby's operating instructions. I do not know when I will return, but you shall be his surrogate father until I do. Be sure he remembers from whence he came.  
-Bill Ferny.   
P.S. If Holman Cotton comes by, tell him I'm terribly sorry about all of this and let him know I have left him a pretty picture on his desk."_  
  
Bilbo sighed, and wiped away a tear. Then, collecting himself, he picked up the baby and held it close. When the baby no longer moved, he released it; and as it regained consciousness, Bilbo looked at him with loving eyes and declared, "Oogey doobey boogey boo! Who's your Dada? I am! Yes I am! Coochey coochey!" Looking him over, from his head full of already dark curls to, well, AHEM! ...his already hairy feet, he spoke once more: "I believe I shall call you Frodo. Don't ask me why, **I** didn't invent the language!" And with that, they turned and went into the house, and Bilbo (not forgetting his precious bath oil) remained a true father to Frodo all the days of his life.


	2. Part Two

_When we last left Bilbo and his surrogate son, Bill Ferny had fled somewhere into the wild, presumably to have an erotic affair with a can of lightly syrupped peaches. We now take you to about 30 years later, when Bilbo is becoming a little old and gray, and Frodo is in the last years of his childhood. Little did they know that their lives were about to change forever. We now return you to part two of '_The Real Tale of Bilbo And Frodo Baggins And Their Many Splendiferous Adventures_', in which Bilbo discovers something odd both around the hole, and about his son._

*****

  
  
"I believe you're gay!" hollered Bilbo, chasing after Frodo as he dashed around the hole, trying to get away from his father. Lately, Bilbo had been acting strangely and mumbling to himself about some "precious". Frodo figured it had to be the dwarf he was currently seeing, but although he had read up a great deal on dwarvish customs (and elvish as well, including the book '_The Story of Beren and Luthien and All of Luthien's Naughty and Beautiful Cousins; Illustrated Edition*_') he could not find anything about a so-called "precious". Also of late, the old hobbit had been insisting to Frodo to call him uncle. This seemed rather strange to the poor lad, who still had his teenage hormones, as Bilbo was the only father he presumed he had.   
  
"I'm not gay!" He shouted back, running into his room and diving under the bed. "Ooh! A muffin!" His uncle came running in.   
"Really, dear Frodo, I assure you, it's perfectly natural for a boy of your age to be -- AHEM! -- rather confused. I'll admit, when I wasn't but 27 I had a rather scandalous encounter with one of the Brandybucks, back in my quiet days."   
  
Bilbo's quiet days were now over. For the past 20 or so years, Bilbo had been sneaking off with various wizards, dwarves and the like. Frodo assumed it had something to do with pipe weed and Dwarves' hairy buttocks, as he always stayed away long, and came back with nothing that he had originally left with, seeming a bit worn down. But he got paid handsomely for, well, whatever it was that he did. He had brought back mountains of treasure, and spent the next day tagging every item with "Property of B. Baggins" labels and burying everything under the house. But he didn't really want to think about it. His uncle claimed it was a "daring adventure", filled with trolls, goblins, eagles and the slaying of a great dragon. But late at night, Frodo had heard him and his seemingly favourite escort wizard, a Gandalf something-or-other, discussing what the lad discerned as "orgy". Or maybe it was "ogre". He didn't hear too much of Bilbo, over Gandalf's insanely loud rambles.  
  
"Umm, yes, well, if it's all the same, Fa-- I mean, Uncle Bilbo, I think I shall go to sleep now." Frodo pulled himself out from under the bed and went to his wardrobe, pulling out his frilly flannel nightie. The one he saved for especially chilly nights like this one was shaping up to be.   
  
"Alright then my boy," Bilbo said, leaving his room. He stopped and poked his head back in. "But if I catch you with that Gamgee boy, I swear I'll--"  
  
"Bilbo!!!"  
  
"Alright, alright... I just think you could do better, is all. Good night, Frodo."  
  
Light disappeared as Bilbo blew out various lamps and candles through the hole. He heard dishes clattering in the kitchen, a sign that Bilbo was getting his just-before-midnight snack, and possibly his midnight one as well just to save himself a trip, and then heard his bed frame groan as he got into it.   
  
"Silly tart'll get crumbs all over the sheets again," thought Frodo. Then he took out a piece of parchment from the chest by his bed and a quill, and, making sure his uncle was asleep, started to write:  
  
"_Dearest Sam,  
This can't go on forever; Uncle Bilbo knows about us! We must run away, Sam, together without anyone following us. We'll head for the East, maybe stay with the Elves or something: Bilbo has 'acquaintances' there who I'm sure would be glad to have us. And haven't you always wanted to kiss an elf? But we must be discreet, and none of this leaving after dark business; plain daylight will seem more normal. We shall go on a hike. Meet me around the side of Bag End tomorrow past noon: we shall leave then. _

_Kisses,  
Your Frodo._"  
  
Silently, Frodo snuck down the hill, slipped the note through Sam's window and, falling once or twice up the hill on his way home, crept back into the house through the front door. Bilbo was none the wiser.  
  


[*NOTE: Said storybook belongs to the almighty Lemonlye, author of the "All-Slash, All-The-Time" version of FotR. All hail Lemonlye.]


	3. Part Three

            The next morning Sam was at the door to Bag End as soon as the sun rose. Rapping on the door he cried, "Lovely! Lov – er, I mean, uh, Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo! Come on out for a stroll!" Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Frodo Baggins did appear at the door, not looking at all hoppit-like and peaceful, but rather disgruntled and troll-like. He smoothed out his rumpled nightie.

            "Sam, it's seven in th—"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Sam screeched, seeing his lovely. He ran to the side of Bag End and hid behind a flowerbed before shouting, "Alright, short shanks! What are you and why are you wearing Lovely's nightie?!" Frodo grabbed his jacket and, throwing it on, ran outside to Sam. 

            "Don't be an idiot, Samwise," he chided him. "It's your Frodo! Lovely! Now what's all this about? Why are you out here shouting like Bilbo after a pipe? You'll wake the neighbours and they'll discover us!" 

            Sam's eyes widened as he recognized Frodo. Stammering, he attempted to explain what he remembered. "Mr. Frodo! We can't leave today! I heard it from my Gaffer; you know how my memory is and all."

            "Can't leave? Heard what? I don't understand…" The poor young hoppit was confused.

"Well, I was going on to my Gaffer about the wonderful lunch I was making for our 'hike'," Sam explained, and winked. "And he said to me he says, 'Samwise, you foolish twit; you'll have no room left for cake!' 'Cake?' I asked him. You know I always like a good bit of cake. 'Of course, you stupid inbred git. Have you forgotten already that today is old Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday?' And you know, of course I had!" Sam prattled on about all the celebration details told to him by his Gaffer, and after awhile poor Frodo began to nod, head to chest. Then a loud burst of laughter roused him. He was still talking.

            "…And so my Gaffer, he said—"

"Enough!" Frodo yelled, pulling up a handful of something out of the flowerbed. "I don't want to hear any more about your Gaffer! Screw your Gaffer!"

            Sam was silent for a moment, and looked like he was about to cry. All of a sudden he regained himself and continued. "Well, **you** could if you like, Lovely, but I really don't think he'd take kindly to it. Me, on the other hand, I think our family's had enough of that for a couple generations. How did you know to pull the weeds, by the way? That's mighty impressive, Lovely…"

            As he kept talking – he could go on like that for hours – a great deal of noise sprang up out of nowhere. Looking down the hill, Frodo saw a great host of people setting up tents, tables and the like. He supposed they were for the party that day. He considered this and pouted. So all the presents he had seen in Bilbo's wardrobe **weren't** for him. He felt so betrayed. 

            He had no time to feel sorry for himself, however, as at that moment, Gandalf came strolling up the path, beard nicely combed, in his best shade of gray. 

            "Quick! Hide, you fool!" Frodo hissed, pushing Sam over, and throwing himself onto his back. 

            "Mr. Frodo, wouldn't it be better if we went inside to do this? Away from the ears of the others, I mean. It's not that I don't like the outdoors—"

            Frodo sighed, exasperated, and clamped a hand over Sam's mouth, just as Gandalf passed them. 

            The old wizard almost knocked Bag End a new window, the way he banged his staff on the door. 

            "Go away!" Shouted a tired, muffled voice from inside. "I'm not decent!" 

"Not even for every old friends?" Inquired Gandalf.

The door flew open like a flash. "Well," said, Bilbo, smoothing back his bed head. "Maybe just for **very** old friends…"

            The door closed quietly this time as Gandalf stepped inside for Eru-knows-what. Sam and Frodo sat still until they were sure Bilbo had presumably gone into the pantry, and Gandalf had attempted a sit on the sofa by the fireplace, as usual. He often managed it, despite his large behind. Only then did Frodo remove his hand and sit up. 

            "So as I was saying, I brought along some of that lunch I was raving about, Lovely," Sam continued. Frodo managed to slap him quiet in time for them both to hear Bilbo speak from inside Bag End:

            "Gandalf, my old friend, this will be a night to remember!"

            They both looked at each other and gulped, knowing – or assuming they did – precisely what that meant. 

            "We'd best stay late in the pub," said Frodo. Sam agreed.


	4. Part Four

**[Author's Note: I have altered some of the bits in chapters one and two to better suit the story. "Rob Driz" has now been changed to Bill Ferny, and I think you'll find that if you see it in this context, a messily ended love affair with Bilbo might have sparked the distaste for the four hobbits (especially Frodo) as they left Bree. This would also rewrite Sam's bit of throwing the apple. Anyway, read on!]**

The party was actually quite tame, for one of Bilbo's soirees, although they did catch one of the curious Proudfoot girls with one of the younger dwarves attending. This caused quite a scandal for some minutes, until another cake was brought out, then the hobbits' attention was strictly directed towards who got which cream rose off the corners. Frodo however was extremely upset. He had been watching some Rosie Cotton girl try to whore about his Sam all night; and from the looks of things, Sam wasn't exactly ignoring her. She'd flounce up to him, grab his hand and drag him out for another dance and a pint (and maybe a cookie if there was time), and poor Sam would get so flustered and blush, and by the end of the night, Mr. Frodo had more than drowned his sorrows: a pile of beer glasses nearly covering a whole banquet table started to pile up. It was at that moment that Sam sat down.

            "Some party, eh, Lovely?" He grinned and helped himself to a pint that Frodo hadn't yet finished. The angry hoppit snatched it back and downed it. "Why, what's the matter? You look like you've just lost your best friend if you get my meaning. That's what it is if I'm right which, granted, I'm usually not, but I really don't see how it could be anything else. Has that Meriadoc been at your stash again? I told you he's a troublemaker. You really should learn to hide that foreign stuff more carefully, Lovely. I mean, what if old Bilbo got at it?" He shuddered as Bilbo himself walked past, tucked snuggly under Gandalf's arm in a special birthday embrace. Sam ducked behind the many mugs. He started to get up; that cake looked mighty good with all those colourful cream roses, and anyway, dancing with Rosie all night had worn him out. But Frodo suddenly grabbed him; so Sam plopped himself back down on the bench. There were tears in young Frodo's eyes.

            "Why Sam? Why have you been ignoring me all night, going off with that Rosie girl? They're good for maybe two things; one's throwing kitchen parties. Do I even need to tell you the other?! Really Sam, what have I done? Was it the letters? They were a bit much. I kept telling myself, 'Frodo you idiot, if you keep on whoring yourself out to this Gamgee fellow, he'll get scared off, you know how his folks are.'" At this point Sam looked rather confused. Frodo burst out into tears and buried his face in Sam's shirt.

            "Frodo, we can't do this now, people are staring!" Sam awkwardly patted Frodo's back and said something to a few passing Sackville-Bagginses about "a little too much off the barrel, if you hear me", as Frodo blubbered incomprehensively into Sam's dirt-stained shirt. "My but you look rather pretty all mussed up," Sam added with a smile. Frodo immediately sat up and tousled his curls around. 

"Thank you," he said with a sly grin on his face. "I like it too."

A bright light shot up in the air, before exploding into a thousand specks of orange light. Sam was dazzled and actually jumped up, knocking his still-recovering Frodo to the ground.

"Look, Lovely! Fireworks!" 

"Are Merry and Pippin going at it again?" Asked Frodo rubbing his head where it had hit the grass.

"No, I mean real fireworks!" Sam pointed up to the sky and clapped his hands like a child. Frodo got up and put his arm around the boy, laughing. Those Gamgees were so easily amused. 

A silhouette became outlined against more bright lights. It was Bilbo, having drunk one too many shots and with a nice big pink bow on his head, presumably off one of the presents he had given. He was now trying to give a speech, somewhat inebriated. 

"My mosht exshellent hoppitsh," he stammered. "I… am old fart! And ash shuch, I will not only give you a shpeech, but a lovely all-shinging, all-danshing rendithion of _'Túrin Turambar: The Musical'_!" The audience groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Frodo and Sam left early, along with most of their friends for the tavern, just before midnight.

"The mug calls!" Exclaimed Frodo, dancing – and nearly falling flat on his face – in the road. 

"Yes, yes," mumbled Pippin, who had to hold him up when about halfway there, Frodo decided he had no legs. "It's been yelling in your ear all night, by the looks of things."

Much fun was had in the tavern that night, and the two hoppits almost forgot about the time, as there was also a bachelor party for one of the Bolgers going on when they arrived. Merry and Pippin amused themselves as they usually did every Friday night: singing and table dancing, except now they had many dolled-up hoppitses to dance with. Frodo and Sam somehow managed to sneak away to a private little corner to celebrate dear Frodo's coming "of age", under the cover of a large platter of leftovers carted in from the party field. When Sam wasn't otherwise occupied, he was enjoying the sights, sounds and of course tastes of many tarts, pastries and cakes.

Finally, after uncountable hours, the barman announced (for the first time in many, many years) that he must close, as the sun was liable to rise at any moment. Then, when nobody responded, he grabbed his big broom – the one saved for special rejections – and proceeded to bat the remaining stupefied hoppits out of his tavern and hopefully back to their warm holes.

So, as the sun's light spread over Hobbiton, the four friends, groaning with severe headaches, stumbled back to their respective holes, beds and mugs of black coffee. Samwise and Frodo, being quite certain that the wizard would not have stayed this late (or early), swaggered up the path to Bag End and Frodo's comfy feather bed.

Sam, remembering the bit of lunch he had left in the bushes that morning, pulled out the basket that sat there and began eating his first breakfast as the two young hobbits walked through the round door into the hall. The smell of pipeweed wafted down the hall, and Frodo rolled his eyes at the thought that Gandalf was indeed still there. Sam smelt it too and for once, came up with a rather smart idea:

"You'd best let old Bilbo know you're back, Mr. Frodo, else you're likely to have sore eyes when you turn that corner!"

Frodo nodded in agreement and covered his eyes to prevent seeing anything unpleasant. In an obvious tone he called out to his dear uncle.

"Bilbo? It's me, Frodo: **your nephew**! I'm home, with Sam Gamgee, who's joined us for a bit of breakfast! We're coming into the living room now… Here we come, nice and slow…"

Luckily, to their, well, luck, they saw only Gandalf when they entered the room. He sat in front of the fireplace, eyebrows bristling and slightly singed from the fire. As the two hoppits stepped closer, the old wizard barely even acknowledged their presence. 

"Maybe he's asleep, Lovely." Sam offered. "You know how these old ones get: hopping about on one foot one minute, and the next thing you know out like a candle!"

With that remark, Gandalf the Grey snapped out of his trance and, though quite amused by the fire, turned to face the hoppit who had just spoken.

"You forget, Samwise Gamgee, that a wizard may be many things; among them old, but never hopping." The two hobbits smiled at each other, albeit quite sheepishly. 

"And," he suddenly added with a wink, "they always know precisely when you enter the room, not to mention your intentions." 

The hoppits blushed as Gandalf rose from his seat and crossed the room to Bilbo's desk. It stood open with many maps, letters, notes and hand-drawn pictures strewn about it. He poured through it for a few moments before extracting a large sealed envelope, with 'Frodo' written in large fancy script on the front.

"Your uncle, dear Frodo, is no longer here. He has up and decided that a life with the Elves is just what he needs, away from the nosy neighbours and their eyes peering through the windows at all hours." He paused, as if remembering some incident of this happening, but continued quickly. "Bilbo will be in Rivendell, retired from a lifetime of adventure and content with Master Elrond in a few weeks. He has given me great instruction as to what goes to whom, and it appears you are to get Bag End and its pantries as well as his a considerable fortune and reputation, along with whatever is sitting underneath this house."

Gandalf, having finished his spiel, broke the seal off the envelope and pulled out several smaller ones, all with names, contents and directions on the front. Some of them read:

For: Hamfast Gamgee 

_Payback for disrupting my thirtieth birthday as a child._

_Not to be opened until next birthday celebration._

_For: The Sackville-Bagginses_

_Pictures of me at Bag End and surrounding area._

_To be delivered with a smirk of grim satisfaction._

As Frodo looked over each envelope carefully, the wizard was reaching the bottom of the larger one. Puzzled, he pulled out what seemed to be a rather heavy package, read the script on the front and quickly gave it to the young hoppit.

"'20 karat gold ring,'" Frodo read off. "'For my nephew, to be kept especially well hidden and not used, as is extremely precious and difficult to clean.' Odd. I knew Bilbo had his partying days, but I never suspected he'd kept anything from them…"

He turned the envelope over in his hands, which seemed oddly heavy. The heavy smell of Bilbo's favourite rose and lavender bath oil seeped through its folds, and Frodo was ready to open it and have a look, when Gandalf stepped in front of him, hand outstretched.

"He always was fond of that smell," he said, smiling. "It was quite special to him. It's best we put it away for now. Keep it secret, Frodo; keep it safe!" He haphazardly threw the scented envelope into the nearest trunk along with some rolled up maps and books, before turning to Sam.

"Now, what's all this about a bit of breakfast?"


End file.
